


breaking the sky

by knightspur



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Repressed, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Investigations, M/M, Meta, Organized Crime, Pining, Police corruption, Slow Burn, character injury, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightspur/pseuds/knightspur
Summary: Junhui laughs, shaking his head. “Just tell me what we’re working on.”“I’ve got sources tying mob money to Thrill Music,” Wonwoo says, lowering his voice until the pounding bass nearly swallows it up. “Nothing on the record yet, but I’m pretty sure I can shake someone loose.”“The pop company?” Junhui asks. His hand falls to Wonwoo’s thigh. “That’s what you’ve been poking at?”Wonwoo nods, taking a long few sallows of his beer.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 17
Kudos: 73
Collections: WIP OLYMPICS: WINTER 2019/20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [figure8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/gifts).



“So, what’s the rundown?” Jeonghan asks, his gaze pointed at the steaming cup of black coffee in his hands rather than on Wonwoo. He doesn’t usually drink hot coffee— it’s almost always an iced Americano. The cold must finally be getting to Jeonghan. “Do you have a story yet?”

“If I say no can I have another week to research?” Wonwoo asks, keeping his eyes on his notes in return. When he first started, Wonwoo was much more afraid of Jeonghan. 

“I gave you a _month,”_ Jeonghan says, shaking his head. “If I left it up to you, we’d never get anything done. Tell me what you’re going ahead with.”

“Thrill Music,” Wonwoo says, leaning back on the overstuffed couch that Jeonghan has set up in the middle of his office. He only put it there to lull reporters into a false sense of security when pitching ideas. It’s not terribly relaxing. “Are you familiar?”

Briefly, Wonwoo wishes he’d dragged Junhui along to this meeting. Even though Junhui has no business sitting in on Wonwoo’s editorial pitches. Jeonghan likes him better— he’s always in a better mood when Junhui is around.

“The entertainment company?” Jeonghan asks, one eyebrow bending into a perfect arch. “Are you considering a career change?”

“No,” Wonwoo says, huffing out a laugh. “They blew up in the last year or so. Sold over a million CDs… last year it was less than 200,000.”

“Are you going to take the whole afternoon to pitch?” Jeonghan asks, his mouth turned up at the corners. “I gave you a month, Jeon. Tell me you did more than chase idols around.”

“The money is dirty,” Wonwoo says. It’s satisfying to get under Jeonghan’s skin a little— it happens so rarely. “That’s what I’ve been researching… comparing the physical sales to some other metrics. I have a few sources willing to say that there’s mob involvement. They’ve been taking in the money through the physical sales and then paying it back to their investors.”

“You’re saying the whole thing is a front?” Jeonghan asks. He sets his cup down on the table, crossing one leg over the other. “Are your sources on the record for that?”

“Not yet,” Wonwoo says, doing his best not to cringe too visibly. “No one still signed with them wants their name on TV connected with this.”

Jeonghan nods, reaching out to take Wonwoo’s notes, dark sleeves falling back over his thin wrists. He has his long hair smoothed down, tied back from his face in a neat ponytail. It’s been a few years since Jeonghan has spent any time on the air but he still looks more camera-ready than Wonwoo does after two turns in the makeup chair.

“You think you can get people on the air?” Jeonghan asks, flipping through the pages of research that Wonwoo has put together. It isn’t proof— not yet. Without people to corroborate what he’s saying, all Wonwoo has done is waste several weeks staring at spreadsheets and chart rankings. Struggling to put these details together.

“Pretty sure,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. “There’s a lot of whispering. The trick is finding someone who isn’t afraid of talking about it.”

“Mmm… I like it. Easier for people to watch over dinner than that _implants_ story,” Jeonghan says, shuddering in distaste. He passes the notebook back over to Wonwoo, nodding. “Go forward with it. Now for the other thing we need to talk about.”

“What other things?” Wonwoo asks, wary. “I’m only doing one report…”

“It’s about what you’re _not_ doing,” Jeonghan says, the smile still fixed in place. “I know the misanthropy is part of your charm but you need to take some interest in others.”

Wonwoo sighs. This is only the latest in a dozen attempts by Jeonghan to get Wonwoo more involved in networking. “My social circle is…”

“Non-existent,” Jeonghan says. “Your only friend is Soonyoung.”

He’s right, though Wonwoo doesn’t see much reason to try and change that now. Soonyoung has been his only friend for most of his life. 

“It’s part of your job,” Jeonghan says, picking up his mug once again. “Go for drinks. Get friendly with some contacts. People already hate being interviewed by you, don’t make it worse.”

“Only people who lie hate it,” Wonwoo grumbles, scowling. He’d like to argue that nowhere in his job description does it state he has to be popular, or even friendly. But he knows by now that that argument doesn’t move Jeonghan. 

“You’re not that delightful when people are honest, either,” Jeonghan says, rolling his eyes. “Get back to work. Make some weekend plans.”

Wonwoo sighs, picking himself up and tucking his notes under his arm. “Am I gonna have to talk about my weekend in the production meeting?”

“Would you like to?” Jeonghan asks, his smile going sharp. “I can make time especially for you.”

“No,” Wonwoo says, the tips of his ears going hot. Jeonghan would do it, he’s sure. It’s better not to push his luck on this one. “I’ll get out and do something.”

“Excellent,” Jeonghan says, waving him out. “Send me a progress update at the end of next week.”

The glass door hisses when it falls shut behind Wonwoo.  


* * *

  
Letting Soonyoung and Junhui drag him out to their usual bar for drinks is not the _networking _that Jeonghan had in mind but it’s a lot easier. The two of them are attached at the hip the second they walk in, leaving Wonwoo to trail behind.__

__He sticks out like a sore thumb— stiff and overdressed. As soon as he pushes into the booth next to Junhui, Junhui tries snatching his tie and pulling the knot loose. When Wonwoo elbows him off and scowls, Junhui only laughs._ _

__“The point is to relax,” he says, bumping his shoulder against Wonwoo’s. “Have a beer.”_ _

__“I can have a beer at home. Where it’s quiet.”_ _

__“You’re gonna turn into an old man drinking alone,” Soonyoung says, taking up the opposite side of the table by himself. Kwon Soonyoung, an entertainment reporter, has been Wonwoo’s closest friend since middle school. He’s a fixture in Wonwoo’s life just like the weather is. Soonyoung, too, is mostly unpredictable._ _

__Wen Junhui, on the other hand, Wonwoo only met through work. He’s not sure exactly what Junhui qualifies as. He’s been the cameraman for a significant part of Wonwoo’s stories. They’ve gotten used to each other over the last several years. Went from hissing at each other every time they were in the same room to an easy, steady partnership._ _

__Junhui is good with the camera and game for chasing around whatever politician or crooked lawyer that Wonwoo has his sights set on. He’s good at taking care of Wonwoo, too. He sits around Wonwoo’s apartment, gripes about his taste in music while Wonwoo works on pulling his script together. He lets all three of Wonwoo’s cats fall asleep on his chest, too. All piled up on top of each other._ _

__“Was your meeting with the boss that bad?” Junhui asks. His arm stretched over the back of the booth, has fallen onto Wonwoo’s shoulders instead. It’s intentional— maybe._ _

__“It was fine,” Wonwoo says. “He approved my pitch.” He shrugs._ _

__When he turns to look at Junhui, the stupid flashing dance light catches his eyes, burning a sparkling afterimage that splashes color over Junhui’s face in return. He tries to blink it away, turning to stare at the table again. Junhui is wearing eyeliner, delicate black lines framing his eyes._ _

__“What is it?” Soonyoung says, pitching forward so fast that he nearly knocks the table over and spills all their drinks. Soonyoung has a cocktail, something sweet and punchy. He’ll be red-faced after two of them. Junhui grabbed beers for himself and Wonwoo both; dark, bitter and smooth like coffee. It’s from a nicer place but it’s nothing Wonwoo can put a name to._ _

__“Weren’t you gonna dance or something?” Wonwoo asks, frowning at Soonyoung. His stories are always secretive and Soonyoung tends to run his mouth. Soonyoung deflates, shooting Junhui a pleading look._ _

__“He’s gonna tell _you,”_ Soonyoung says, his cheeks puffed out. “I wanna be in on the big secret too.”_ _

__Junhui’s hand hooks around Wonwoo’s shoulder, drawing him in closer. “Can’t we tell him this time?”_ _

__“No,” Wonwoo says, tapping his glass against the table. “You only get to know because I need you to shoot it.”_ _

__Soonyoung heaves a sigh, finishing the last of his cocktail before wiggling out of the booth, shooting them both a put-out look._ _

__“You gotta buy him a drink now,” Junhui says, watching Soonyoung prowl his way around the edge of the dancefloor, looking for someone to pull in with him. “So, I’m gonna shoot this?” Junhui twists, his arm slipping off of Wonwoo’s shoulders._ _

__“If you’re not busy,” Wonwoo says, realizing a beat too late he took Junhui’s participation for granted._ _

__Junhui laughs, shaking his head. “Just tell me what we’re working on.”_ _

__“I’ve got sources tying mob money to Thrill Music,” Wonwoo says, lowering his voice until the pounding bass nearly swallows it up. “Nothing on the record yet, but I’m pretty sure I can shake someone loose.”_ _

__“The pop company?” Junhui asks. His hand falls to rest on Wonwoo’s thigh. “That’s what you’ve been poking around at?”_ _

__Wonwoo nods, taking a long few sallows of his beer._ _

__“You definitely shouldn’t tell Soonyoung about that,” Junhui says, his eyes round and owlish. “You’re gonna break his heart— it’ll be like telling him Santa isn’t real.”_ _

__That makes Wonwoo laugh in spite of himself. "Jeonghan wants an update from me in a few weeks."_ _

__"Good," Junhui says, nodding his head sharply a single time. "I'm sick of shooting fluff pieces. It's been a while since I've had to jump a fence to shoot you breaking into someone's yard."_ _

__"That wasn't breaking in," Wonwoo says, hiding his grin behind the rim of his glass. "And they didn't file any charges."_ _

__"So what _did_ Jeonghan scold you for, then?" Junhui says, leaning his cheek on his palm. "You have that downtrodden look."_ _

__"I'm not social enough," Wonwoo says, rolling his eyes. "I don't spend enough time in the evening networking."_ _

__Junhui laughs, tipping his head back between his shoulders. There are still lights bouncing across the room, splashing his skin with shades of blue and violet. "This isn't what he meant by that."_ _

__"I know," Wonwoo says, shoving Junhui by the shoulder. It only makes him grasp Wonwoo's thigh a little tighter to hold himself upright. "But I don't wanna go drink in cop bars or bootlick politicians."_ _

__"You're supposed to get friendly with people," Junhui says, patting Wonwoo's leg under the table. "Isn't that his whole thing? Building relationships?"_ _

__"It's bullshit," Wonwoo says, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. "My sources don't even like me."_ _

__The beer is making Junhui even more touchy than usual. He might have to send Junhui off to the dance floor too just to get some relief from the wandering of his hands. It's not _inappropriate_ really. He's seen Junhui get even handsier with Minghao after having a few drinks. He swears up and down that kissing Minghao would be like kissing one of his cousins or something. Wonwoo could say something to him about it if only to preserve some of his concentration, but he's used to the warm imprint of Junhui's palm._ _

__"That's because you're a pain in the ass," Junhui says, laughter rolling under his words. "If I was a source I'd hate you too."_ _

__Wonwoo finishes his beer and sets the glass back down on the table. "Do I look relaxed enough yet?"_ _

__"You're still in a tie," Junhui says, his nose wrinkling. "I've never seen you look less relaxed."_ _

__Wonwoo sighs, pulling the tie looser around his neck, frowning. "Now I look stupid."_ _

__"Here." Junhui pulls his hand away, tugging on the tie until the knot comes undone. He pulls the silk away from Wonwoo's neck, balling it up and stuffing it in the pocket of his jacket. Before Wonwoo can complain about it, Junhui has hands on him again. This time undoing his top three buttons, exposing a pale glimpse of the hollow of Wonwoo's throat, a peek at his chest. "This is better."_ _

__His hands linger on the collar of Wonwoo's shirt, tugging it smartly back into place. Wonwoo reminds himself to breathe, to keep his eyes forward rather than trying to look Junhui in the face. He grips the edge of the table with one hand. He's used to being friends with touchy people; growing up he had Soonyoung in his bed clinging to him practically every night. But no one touches him exactly the way Junhui does. It's striking. Wonwoo doesn't always realize how much he likes to have someone touching him until it comes to Junhui._ _

__"Another round?" Wonwoo asks, clearing his throat twice to make sure the words will come out. Junhui's face lights up in a smile and he nods-- he was expecting Wonwoo to beg off after the first drink. "I'll pay."_ _

__"You paid for the last one," Wonwoo says, grabbing at Junhui's sleeve to keep him from leaping out of the booth. "Let me..."_ _

__Junhui laughs, tugging his way free and standing up. He leans over, fluffing his fingers through Wonwoo's hair, mussing it. "It's fine! You never come out. Let me treat you."_ _

__For a moment, Junhui lingers in his space; his fingers in Wonwoo's hair, his eyes full of laughter. "Your hair looked too flat."_ _

__He pulls away and Wonwoo pushes all his wandering thoughts to the back of his mind.  
_ _

* * *

__  
In the early phases of a report, Wonwoo does a great deal of work by himself. It's tedious, frequently frustrating. Chasing down leads that change their mind about telling him anything, checking and rechecking his notes day in and day out. He has to establish the groundwork of the story before he starts sticking a camera in people's faces and demanding they give answers._ _

__That's why Wonwoo is spending his morning in a chilly open-air cafe, holding a paper cup of black coffee close to his chest to keep warm. The street isn't busy. Only a few people have gone by and none of them have stopped for anything. Wonwoo isn't surprised. It's not the weather for sitting around outside and luxuriating over a cup of coffee._ _

__His source is late. This isn't surprising either. His time doesn't mean much to the people he's interviewing._ _

__She arrives twenty minutes after the time they agreed upon, dark hair tied up in a ponytail and a black fabric mask covering the lower half of her face. Wonwoo wouldn't know enough to recognize her if he didn't know who he was here to meet. It makes him feel almost guilty. If Soonyoung knew he was having a meeting with one of the girls he's always chattering on about, he'd be pissed. Song Jihyo is short, wearing boots rather than heels, and a sleek leather jacket that costs several months of Wonwoo's salary. There's a firmness to her, a steady presence, that Wonwoo is quick to pick up on. She was the one who reached out to him for an interview, on the condition that he does not use her name in anything._ _

__No public figure wants to have their name associated with a story like this. Jihyo pauses when she sees him, setting her shoulders before taking the seat across from him. Wonwoo wonders if he should've ordered coffee for her as well. It seems rude to be the only one with a drink._ _

__"Reporter Jeon," she says, leaning her elbows on the table. "I, um, recognize you from TV." She laughs after saying it. "Usually people are saying that to me."_ _

__"It's nice to meet you," Wonwoo says, neutral. He doesn't mention the fact that she was half an hour late. "Do you mind if I take notes?"_ _

__"Oh." She blinks rapidly. "Notes? You said my name..."_ _

__"I won't use it," Wonwoo says, laying his notebook on the table. "But I can't remember everything you tell me on my own."_ _

__"Sure," she says, relaxing into the seat. "That makes sense. Sorry, I didn't think you lied about keeping this a secret or anything. I know you're good at your job."_ _

__Having a source see him on TV and _trust_ him after is a novel experience._ _

__"When we spoke on the phone you said you were familiar with the financials at Thrill?" Wonwoo asks, waiting for her to nod. "Why is that? That isn't the label your group is signed with."_ _

__"I was a trainee at Thrill," Jihyo says, tapping her manicured nails on the metal top of the table. "For a few years."_ _

__"And they told you financial information?"_ _

__"No one _told_ me," she says, barking out a laugh. "No one ever talked about money there. It was shifty... like, even bringing it up would get you into trouble."_ _

__She pauses, watching Wonwoo's pen scrabble across the page. "I heard that it didn't matter if our debut was good or not so long as the sales were good."_ _

__"Is that unusual?" Wonwoo asks, pausing to look up at her once again._ _

__"Sure," she says, lifting a shoulder. "People should enjoy the music. But I don't know any Thrill group that has bad sales."_ _

__Wonwoo hasn't been able to find one yet, either. "How long ago were you there?"_ _

__"Two years," Jihyo says. "But it doesn't look like much has changed. Every time they sell a million copies of a CD they pay huge bonuses to all the investors."_ _

__"Was any of this why you decided to leave?" Wonwoo asks, pushing his untouched coffee over to Jihyo instead._ _

__"Kinda," she says, scratching the back of her head. "All that money and none of it ever went back to the group. The sunbae group who was helping train us hadn't moved dorms in three years."_ _

__“You were worried you would end up like them?" Wonwoo asks, lifting an eyebrow. Again, Jihyo shrugs._ _

__"It's a career," she says, frowning. "If you pick a shitty company you never get to pay your training fees back."_ _

__"Did anyone say anything about where the money was going?" Wonwoo asks, tapping the tip of his pen against the paper. "Sales for their groups are going up constantly. It must be going somewhere."_ _

__"I only heard rumors," Jihyo says, leaning back in the seat. She's adopted Wonwoo's coffee as her own, doesn't seem bothered by the fact that it's black. "CEO had gambling debts, investors got bonuses before anyone else got paid, stuff like that."_ _

__"Did any of it seem true to you?" He's heard that rumor about Thrill Music's CEO before. It's something to make a note of at least. Most of Wonwoo's job involves tracking down dead ends to make sure they're dead ends._ _

__"I mean, all of it could be," she says, laughing. "I wasn't trying to get involved in that kind of trouble, though."_ _

__"Is there anyone you trained with that you think would be willing to talk about this?" Wonwoo asks, chewing the inside of his lip. He needs something more definitive before he can give Jeonghan an update on his progress. If he shows up with nothing, Jeonghan is likely to kill the story and tell him to find something better to spend his time on._ _

__"Dunno," Jihyo says. She digs in the pocket of her jacket, pulling her phone out and frowning at the screen. "I have to run. If I think of any, I can give you a call."_ _

__"Sure," Wonwoo says, passing one of his business cards into her hand. "That's my direct line. I don't have a secretary or anything."_ _

__Jihyo takes the card and the cup of coffee with her when she goes. Wonwoo stands as well, slipping his notebook back into his pocket and flexing his near-frozen fingers._ _

__It's going to take more digging to pull any solid details from this mess. Wonwoo isn't sure if he's going to be able to get real business details out of idols or not. They're just as likely to be ignorant of the dirty money propping the company up as the outside public. Chasing rumors around is part of the job, though, and Wonwoo has gotten good at it. Even if it means rubbing elbows with celebrities and leaning on staff and managers. Answers like to lurk murky under the surface-- hiding in people's memories and slipping by in their secrets._ _

__Wonwoo buys another coffee before he leaves, an apology for sitting around for forty-five minutes and not even drinking the first.  
_ _

* * *

__  
When Wonwoo gets into the swing of a story, it's reflected most in his apartment. It goes from neat and orderly to chaotic in the space of a few days. In the past, Wonwoo covered his bed with boxes full of old newspapers, looking for the exact clips he needed. He spent four days sleeping on the couch._ _

__The only chance he has of keeping his sanity rests on Junhui’s shoulders. It’s late on Sunday when he shows up, tapping on the door three times before opening it and letting himself in any way. Wonwoo only has half a dozen folders spread out over the table, clips from old articles, the notes from his interviews so far, various other bits that might be important._ _

__Wonwoo has three cats. Sagwa, the middle-aged orange tabby that he dragged in from the cold back when he was a cub reporter, perks up at Junhui stepping through the door. She flings herself off the windowsill, twisting around Junhui’s ankles. She only has one eye, something that was already the case when Wonwoo found her. Junhui is careful in pulling his shoes off, leaning over to scoop the cat up and let her drape over the back of his neck. He turns his head to the side, kissing one of her paws._ _

__“You didn’t even ask if I was gonna be home,” Wonwoo says, looking up from the notes spread out in front of him. “You could’ve called me, at least.”_ _

__“You’re always home,” Junhui says. He settles in on the couch and Sagwa climbs from his neck to stretch out across his shoulder. “Man on a mission.”_ _

__“I talked to one of Soonyoung’s idols this week,” Wonwoo says, leaning back in his seat. “She was pretty— crazy pretty.”_ _

__“Did you get an autograph?” Junhui asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s the least you could do if you’re gonna ruin the whole industry.”_ _

__“I’m not ruining anything,” Wonwoo says, laughter catching in his words. “I can’t even _prove_ anything funky is going on, yet.”_ _

__“The pretty idol didn’t know anything?” Junhui asks. Sagwa makes a whining sound, pushing her face against Junhui’s cheek. “That’s disappointing.”_ _

__“She had a few hints,” Wonwoo says. After a moment, Sagwa jumps up and traces her way back to the windowsill, settling down in the fuzzy light from outside._ _

__“You eat yet?” Junhui says, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head. Junhui swings his long legs off the couch, rolling up to his feet to go digging through Wonwoo’s fridge. He must be counting on Wonwoo’s answer being _no_ anyway._ _

__“I haven’t gone shopping in two weeks,” Wonwoo says, mumbling before Junhui’s hand even touches the handle._ _

__“Do you have science experiments in here?” Junhui asks, bending over in front of the fridge and pulling it open. Wonwoo smiles, leaning over to peek around his shoulder._ _

__“Maybe one or two.” There’s hardly anything in the fridge _to_ go bad. There’s a sparse few condiments, a jar of kimchi that Eundan, Soonyoung’s mom, sent him home with the last time he visited, at least three eggs._ _

__Junhui whistles, looking over his shoulder. “We should go shopping.”_ _

__“Now?” Wonwoo asks, frowning. Junhui nods, grabbing at his shoulders and giving him a quick shake._ _

__“Now!” He pulls on Wonwoo’s shoulders, tugging him up out of the chair. “Don’t forget your coat.”_ _

__“It’s late,” Wonwoo says, watching Junhui wrestles his shoes and jacket back on, all elbows and knees in his excitement. He’s slower to move, lingering in the doorway without grabbing his coat. “Can’t I change?”_ _

__He isn’t in his PJs anymore, but he is in a long, loose sweater and his glasses. Junhui turns around, taking him in and rolling his eyes a little._ _

__“You look fine. Let’s get going.” He pulls at Wonwoo’s sleeve. Wonwoo gives in with a sigh, pulling his coat on and looping a scarf twice around his neck. He steps into his boots and lets Junhui pull him out the door, turning to lock it behind him._ _

__Junhui’s hand manages to lodge itself in the crook of Wonwoo’s elbow. His grip is light but still stubborn— when Wonwoo moves, Junhui isn’t shaken off. Often, Wonwoo isn’t sure what to do about these little things. They aren’t a bother except that being touched at all is unfamiliar to him. There haven’t been that many people in his life who spend any time touching him tenderly. Or touching him at all. Soonyoung, of course, but that was once its own brand of bewildering._ _

__“It’s too early in the process for you to lock yourself up in your apartment,” Junhui says, his thumb on the tendon inside of Wonwoo’s arm. “ _And_ you need to eat. Maybe we should get ramyun or something while we’re out. Are you hungry?”_ _

__“I guess,” Wonwoo says. Now that he’s out of the apartment— subject to natural light and fresh air— he’s starting to realize how empty his stomach is. “Coffee first?”_ _

__Junhui shoots him a short, flat look, a frown on his face. “Is this your 5th one?”_ _

__“Second,” Wonwoo says. Since the last time he ate, at least._ _

__“Fine,” Junhui relents, nodding. “I’ll buy you one.”_ _

__Late in the evening as it is, the shop is quiet when they walk in. There’s a little coffee stand inside the door and true to his word, Junhui does stop and buy Wonwoo coffee. Hot and black, passing it into his hands with a look of distaste._ _

__Wonwoo lets Junhui take charge of most of the shopping— he needs pretty much all of the basics, anyway. Instead, he nurses his coffee and listens to Junhui chat about all the office drama that he doesn’t pay enough attention to keep up with. It doesn’t take that long, anyway. By the time they get up to the checkout, Wonwoo is bordering on relaxed._ _

__Outside, it’s beginning to snow, a downy layer starting to cover the sidewalk. Junhui transfers the bags into one hand, Wonwoo is already carrying the other half. Junhui’s hand finds the crook of his elbow again, keeping Wonwoo from drifting too far away._ _

__Wonwoo doesn’t complain about it this time either._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did anyone catch the storm of tendergazing this weekend in newark??? it was devastating... TO ME

“So, who are we talking to?” Junhui asks, his voice a shade too bright for the early hour. 

Usually, Junhui works with the larger crew of the network, working the camera and helping direct people on the scene. But when he’s with Wonwoo, Junhui has a tight little mirrorless camera that shoots good, clean video. He also has a tripod slung over his back and a little microphone tucked in his pocket that clips to the collar of Wonwoo’s shirt, another for whoever Wonwoo is interviewing. It’s a quick, dirty rig. Wonwoo gets further if his interviews don’t have to be a whole production.

It also means that most of the time, it’s just the two of them together.

“Production studio,” Wonwoo says, adjusting the wool collar of his jacket. “Jihoon knows him, I guess. Said he might have something worth talking about.”

“You told Jihoon what you’re working on?” Junhui asks, his eyebrows rising.

“No,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head twice sharply. “I just asked to talk to anyone he knew connected to the company.”

Jihoon maintains a wide net of sources in the entertainment industry. Wider than Soonyoung’s, for sure. It’s a surprise considering how surly and difficult Jihoon can be when he’s made his mind up. 

“Former employee?” Junhui asks. 

“Not a lot of currently employed people want to talk about the whole thing being a mob front,” Wonwoo says, pressing his mouth into a line. He hasn’t found a way to get closer to any concrete information on that, either. Anyone who knows about it already knows better than to blurt the whole thing out to a reporter, Wonwoo figures. That’s alright— he’s worked tough stories before. There are ways to get the information that no one wants to give you.

When they pile into the elevator of the office building that Jihoon directed Wonwoo too, there’s a handful of other people already occupying the tight space. Junhui shuffles close, his hip bumping up against Wonwoo’s.

He doesn’t try to hold Wonwoo’s hand while they’re working, at least. 

“Did you put on makeup today?” Junhui asks, squinting at the side of Wonwoo’s face. The pad of his thumb runs down the side of Wonwoo’s face, trying to wipe off an invisible layer of foundation. The back of Wonwoo’s neck flares red but his face doesn’t change. 

“No,” he says, shooting Junhui a frown. Junhui just grins back at him, examining his finger before laughing.

“I kinda assumed you always had some,” he says, eyes wrinkled at the corners. “Reporter Jeon Wonwoo, barefaced on television.” Junhui whistles, shaking his head at the fact.

“Is that so surprising?” Wonwoo asks, shrugging his coat tighter around his shoulders. He doesn’t mind Junhui’s teasing but he would rather not look like a blushing idiot in front of one of his sources.

“I guess,” Junhui says, lifting his shoulders in a loose shrug. “Your skin always looks good on camera.”

If they weren’t in a crowded elevator, Wonwoo might take the chance and smack Junhui just to see if that shuts him up. It doesn’t— in general— but Wonwoo has found few things that do work.

The two of them step out on one of the middle floors, Junhui nudging Wonwoo ahead of him like he’s not moving quite fast enough, long fingers prodding at the middle of his back. Wonwoo sighs, leaning his weight back and slowing his pace even further.

“Am I keeping you from something?” He asks mildly, looking over his shoulder at Junhui. Junhui laughs, the sound of it bouncing it around the empty hall.

“Nah.” Junhui’s hand, for a moment, molds to the small of his back. “I’m hourly.”

Wonwoo stops in front of one of the doors and pauses to check his notebook to make sure it's the right one. Then he clears his throat, turning his eyes toward Junhui. A smile pulls at his lips. "It's been a while since we've done one of these."

"A few months," Junhui says, nodding, his head bobbing like a cat. "Since the... what was it... that corporate espionage thing?" He scratches the back of his head, laughing. "And you interviewed that pretty con-lady who kept making eyes at you because she thought you were a cop."

"I told her she didn't have to talk to me." Wonwoo smiles in spite of his efforts to stop it. "She wouldn't stop _talking_ either." Far past what was useful-- or even related to the story at all.

"It was a good act, anyway," Junhui says. He can't wink but there's a twinkle in his eye that's always been just as good. Wonwoo laughs, cutting it short and trying to shake his smile off. It doesn't usually help him to come off as warm and fuzzy to his sources.

Before he knocks on the door, Junhui's hand drops back to his side once again. 

The guy who answers the door is taller than Wonwoo is expecting. Running into anyone much taller than Junhui is a surprise. For his height, he has a round, youthful face. Bright, open eyes and ears that stick out just far enough to be charming. Handsome when he smiles.

"Chanyeol?" He asks. He certainly looks like the crowd of music producers and underground rappers that Jihoon runs around with; wearing a sleeveless shirt with an illegible logo printed on it and loose shorts. The light behind him is ringed with a blue neon tinge. "I work with Jihoon, he said he told you...?"

"Yeah, the reporter," Chanyeol says, standing up straighter. His head almost brushes the doorway. "He told me you had some, um, industry questions?"

"Something like that," Wonwoo says, neutral. "Do you have time?"

"Sure," Chanyeol shuffles out of the way and gestures for the two of them to sit on the low, dark leather couch. The studio is decorated in chaos, an array of toys and busty anime figurines, signed albums, cords, crushed cans of soda. Wonwoo can see exactly why he gets along so well with Jihoon; buttoned-up, battling an inner instinct for chaos. 

Before he takes a seat, Junhui pauses in the doorway to quickly bow. "Wen Junhui. I'm um, here in case anything needs to be filmed." The tripod rattles when Junhui sits and Wonwoo shuffles over slightly to make sure there's enough room for him before pulling his notebook and pen out.

"Jihoon said you worked for Thrill Music before, is that correct?" Wonwoo asks, looking over the shortlist of questions he wrote down on the subway ride over. He doesn't script his interviews too much; there's no telling what Chanyeol might be able to offer him if he asks the right questions. But in big stories like this, it's important to start with a solid foundation.

"For about two years," Chanyeol says, settling into the tall leather chair pulled up to the desk, spinning it around to face the couch. "I was doing exclusive production for their groups. They were supposed to let me put out a solo album, too."

"It didn't happen?" Even if he did put one out, Wonwoo would likely be the last to know about it. Even if it caught Soonyoung's attention.

"They backed out." He waves his hand and sighs, flopping back in the chair. "By the time they told me it was never gonna happen I already knew. Money moved around like crazy in that place."

"Was that the reason they gave you? They didn't have the money?"

"The management said that debuting a male solo artist wouldn't sell enough CDs," he says, his whole expression gone sour. "They never release _anything_ digital-only and my fans are mostly online." 

"Did that happen to other people you knew?" Wownoo asks, taking a quick pause for the quote. "Their projects getting canceled because of the sales?"

"Yeah, but it's like..." Chanyeol sinks in his seat, long legs stretched in front of him. "They sold whatever they really _wanted_ to sell, y' know? The management. If they liked you enough, it would move a million copies."

Sitting next to him, Junhui perks up slightly.

"What does that mean?" Wonwoo asks, slowing his voice slightly. Best not to _act_ like there's blood in the water.

"I dunno— crappy music, groups who don't sell out concerts but sell half a million CDs in a month," Chanyeol says, shaking his head. "Shitty stuff. Like the groups, the management likes is doing twice as well with half the fans, all the time."

"Another person I talked to said there were a lot of bonuses," Wonwoo says, nudging his heel against Junhui's ankle, trying to get him to relax. “For the management.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Chanyeol says, laughing a little. “They didn’t skimp on paying out for the investors.”

“Did you get the impression that there was any reason for that?” Wonwoo asks, taking a moment to pick the question with care. 

“I just figured it was the usual shit,” Chanyeol says, pulling the cap off of his head and shaking out his hair with a sigh. “Y’know. Everybody just wants to get richer, doesn’t matter who they have to take it from.”

Junhui settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his lap. His gaze is more focused on Wonwoo than on Chanyeol, mouth turned up in a little smile. 

“So, you think they canceled your album project because the management didn’t like you enough?” Wonwoo asks, tipping his head to the side. “If it wasn’t really about the money.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figure,” he says, scraping his overgrown bangs back from his face and trapping them under the cap once again. “Couldn’t be about the music, right? Happy to take every song I write and have their girls sing it and sell half a million. So it’s probably about me.”

“Did you notice anything else while you worked there?” Wonwoo asks, eyebrows raised. “People who seemed like they didn’t belong?”

“Just the cops,” Chanyeol says, rolling his eyes. “Guess you can’t say they don’t belong but there were cops at the building all the time. They came with important-looking guys in suits sometimes, but most of the time there were like a dozen officers a week coming in and out.”

“The cops?” Wonwoo asks, his brow furrowing. “Were there a lot of problems?”

“Nah, they weren’t getting called in,” Chanyeol says. “It was pretty hushed up— the managers I worked with said not to talk to them when they came by. Mostly for meetings upstairs, I guess. Never saw anyone getting led out in handcuffs either.”

Wonwoo bites down on the inside of his cheek, trying to remind himself not to give the whole thing away. Jihyo didn’t say anything about the police but it wasn’t a question that Wonwoo thought to ask, either. He’s still struggling to put together enough information to connect the mob to Thrill Music, to begin with.

“No one said what else they might’ve been there for?” Wonwoo asks. It’s not as if the possibilities are infinite.

“Never heard,” Chanyeol says, shrugging. “The support staff might know more, I guess. They keep a pretty tight hand on the place.”

“Yeah?” Wonwoo asks, lifting his head to look at Chanyeol with the hint of a smile on his face. “Would you happen to have the phone number for your old manager?”  


* * *

  
When they leave, Wonwoo is satisfied with the answers he’s gotten. At least for the most part. A good interview usually brings a few of its own wrinkles to the story but Wonwoo wasn’t expecting to hear that the police were involved.

“You’ve been quiet for like twenty minutes,” Junhui says, bumping his elbow against Wonwoo’s. “At least think out loud.”

“It was a good interview,” Wonwoo says, looking over at Junhui and shrugging. “He had a pretty good memory of what was going on, gave up another lead.”

“But that’s not what you’re thinking about,” Junhui says, grinning.

“No,” Wonwoo says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “That’s not what I’m thinking about.”

Junhui smiles, grabbing at Wonwoo’s elbow and pulling him into the convenience store on the corner. “Let’s get something to eat.”

"You don't have to get back?" Wonwoo asks, taking a step closer when Junhui starts tugging on his arm. Unlike Wonwoo, this story isn't Junhui's sole focus and he probably _does_ have other work to do 

"It's lunch anyway," Junhui says, shaking his head. "Most people take time in the middle of the day to eat."

Wonwoo rolls his eyes but nods anyway. He follows along after Junhui, picking out two cups of the spicy instant noodles that he knows Junhui likes so much. This is the kind of stuff that Wonwoo eats more often than he'd like to admit. He knows how to cook, a little. Bits he picked up from Soonyoung's parents or watching cooking videos on the internet. It would be a hassle to learn at this point. The last person who used his kitchen to cook a meal was Junhui.

He passes the food over to Junhui, standing to the side while Junhui fiddles around with the ancient kettle sitting in the corner, gently encouraging it to start heating the water.

"So, bribes?" Junhui asks, relaxed as ever. "Are those from the mob or the investors?" He's shades away from laughing.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast shadows along Junhui's jawline, just above where the collar of his turtleneck ends. It is in moments like these that Wonwoo notices the fact that Junhui is very handsome. He looks more like he should be gracing the screen rather than behind a camera.

"Fifty-fifty," Wonwoo says, forcing his eyes off the cut of Junhui's jaw. If he catches Wonwoo staring he'll only make a big deal about it. He's already enough of a handful without the boost to his vanity. "They both have plenty of reason, I guess. Thrill needs to cover something up, I can say that much. And money like that leaves a trail."

"Ah, don't start talking about the boring stuff," Junhui says, shaking his head and waving the chopsticks in his hand in Wonwoo's direction. "It's not sexy TV when you lecture people about math."

"I didn't think we were making _sexy TV,"_ Wonwoo says, trying and failing not to laugh. "It's the truth. It doesn't have to be exciting."

"You could try this time," Junhui says, picking the kettle up when it starts to whistle, filling both styrofoam cups up carefully. “It’s an entertainment scandal, anyway. It could be sexy.”

“I think you have me mixed up with someone else,” Wonwoo says, taking the cup when Junhui passes it to him. It’s cold outside— Junhui lingers close while Wonwoo pays for the food. He can feel the slight shifting of his jacket; Junhui slipping a few crumpled bills into his pocket in return. 

There is a small bench outside, not yet covered in snow, that Junhui pulls Wonwoo down to sit on. Their knees knock together and Wonwoo slurps up a mouthful of burning hot broth to try and stave off the cold. Junhui coos happily at the steam rising off his noodles.

“This is why it’s best to work with you,” Junhui says, bumping his elbow against Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Nobody else feeds me!”

“Minghao feeds you,” Wonwoo says, a twitch of a smile on his face.

“Minghao expects me to eat a cold icky salad with him,” Junhui says, shaking his head. “No matter what the weather is! All the time he’s gotta have his stupid salad.”

“This is better,” Wonwoo says, nodding in agreement. He leans his shoulder against Junhui’s, blowing steam away from his face. There’s a semi-circle of fog on Junhui’s glasses when he leans forward to keep eating.

Wonwoo _does_ agree, though. He likes working with Junhui the most. They have good chemistry working together— Junhui is responsible for having shot a fair amount of Wonwoo’s best work.

“Should we get back?” Wonwoo asks, sitting up when he realizes he’s using Junhui to support the whole of his weight.

“Sure,” Junhui chirps, biting down on the wood end of his chopstick. “In a hurry to go digging through tax documents?”

“Something like that,” Wonwoo says, pushing himself back up to his feet. He drops the empty styrofoam cup in a trash can. His hands are cold and for a moment he thinks about grabbing one of Junhui’s to see if they’re the same way. It’s a flash impulse, scared away the second Wonwoo catches himself thinking about it. 

He follows Junhui down the stairs, shoving both hands deep in his pockets, curling them into tight fists.  


* * *

  
Wonwoo doesn’t try to avoid every social event that comes his way. When Soonyoung takes it upon himself to drag them all out to a bar on Chan’s behalf, Wonwoo goes along without complaint. It’s his last day as an intern— on Monday he starts as part of Soonyoung’s department permanently.

It’s all good news. Chan is a good kid and Soonyoung has grown inescapably fond of him over the last few months. He was beset by Soonyoung and Junhui the second they got to the bar, both of them buying him shots and cheering along while he drank them.

Chan, now, is red-faced and giggling, hanging off of Soonyoung’s shoulders. Soonyoung is holding his waist in return, short fingers fanned out over his ribs. Junhui looks them over, jabbing excitedly at Wonwoo’s ribs as if he hadn’t noticed.

As long as he’s known Soonyoung, people have always gravitated towards him. He’s not surprised to see Lee Chan get caught in his orbit as well. He’s giddy, stuck to Soonyoung’s side, an infatuated sparkle in his eyes. 

“Poor intern,” Junhui coos, his voice close to Wonwoo’s ear. “He has no idea what he’s in for.”

“Probably not,” Wonwoo says, taking a slow sip of his beer. “He’s a smart kid, though.”

Junhui’s hand finds the small of his back, palm warm, lingering. This is starting to become familiar— the imprint of Junhui’s hands on him. Wonwoo isn’t sure if he likes it or not, though the way Junhui touches him isn't unwelcome. For a long time now there have been very few people who have put their hands on him with tenderness. 

"You look good," Junhui says, the elbow of his other arm leaning on the bar. "Relaxed! Like you actually wanna be here."

Wonwoo abandoned his tie and jacket in the backseat of Soonyoung’s car. The light blue shirt he had underneath is crisp and silky in texture and leaving the top three buttons open encourages it to reveal more of his chest than he's used to. 

"I do wanna be here," Wonwoo says, trying to convince himself to relax into where Junhui’s hand rests on his back. "He'll be a good reporter someday. I'm glad he got the job."

Minghao leans his back against the bar, standing on Junhui’s other side. His outfit is much more daring than Wonwoo would ever think to be, a black lace shirt that fits close to his slim body and pants that look drawn on. 

"I need someone to dance with me," he says, shooting daggers at the dancefloor. Junhui blinks at him, slowly dropping his arm back to his side. 

"Me?" He says, standing up straight. "Finally! I thought you were gonna sink your teeth into some pretty stranger and forget about me all night." He turns, grinning now at Wonwoo. "You too?" 

"No," Wonwoo says, leaning back with a laugh. "No way. I'll watch your drink." 

"Okay," Junhui says, pushing away from the bar and grabbing hold of Minghao's hand. 

Wonwoo doesn't resent being left to nurse his beer alone. The fact that Soonyoung and Chan have managed to vanish from sight in the last few minutes is only a little concerning to him. 

The solitude only lasts a minute or two. He's joined by a tall, handsome man. He can't be any older than Wonwoo is himself. He looks around before he sits, clearing his throat. 

"Hey have I, um, have I seen you before?" He asks, his hands knitted together on top of the bar, anxious. "On TV or something?" 

"You might," Wonwoo says, shrugging his shoulders in closer. "Depends on what you watch."

When he doesn't answer for a moment, Wonwoo decides to play just a little nicer. "I'm a journalist. I do special investigation reports on TV." 

The guy’s face lights up— like Wonwoo said he was an actor or something. “Really?” He leans forward, studying Wonwoo’s face. “I’ve seen that! You did that the story on that factory burning down, right?"

Wonwoo doesn't have anything he would exactly call _fans._ There's a group of middle-aged mothers who coo over how handsome he is and the occasional older man who asks to shake his hand in the street. Not usually tall, broad-shouldered young guys who strike up a conversation when Wonwoo is at a bar by himself. If nothing else, it's novel.

"I did," Wonwoo says, nodding in quick confirmation. "It's important to get the truth out to people." He leans his elbow on the bar, nursing another sip of his drink, considering. "Jeon Wonwoo."

"Kim Mingyu," he says in return, his eyes crinkling at the corner when he smiles. "I'm, um, I'm just a regular cop." He says, chuckling in the back of his throat. "Do you want another drink?"

Wonwoo looks at his beer-- mostly empty. There's no reason exactly to say no. Mingyu is handsome and friendly it seems, but Wonwoo isn't in the habit of letting anyone buy drinks for him, let alone pretty strangers. But then, it wouldn't hurt to try either, could it? It might stop Soonyoung from trying to shove guys at him for once.

"Sure," he says, nodding his head slowly. "I can have one more."

Mingyu leans across the bar to order, his hands laying on the edge of it. He reminds Wonwoo of a dog putting his paws on the counter, trying to steal a morsel from the table. 

"Are you working on another story?" Mingyu asks once Wonwoo has another drink. "Something exciting?"

"I don't talk about my stories," Wonwoo says, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "It's easier to get sources to talk to me if they know whatever they say will stay under wraps."

"Oh, I get it," Mingyu says, nodding along. "You must be in charge of some pretty big secrets.”

“Something like that,” Wonwoo says, taking a slow sip. Mingyu kicks his feet against the stool, his eyes tilting toward Wonwoo. 

“I, um, might’ve heard a little bit about what you’re working on,” Mingyu says, looking down at the bar instead. Wonwoo’s attention pulls sharply. He sets the beer down, curling his hand into a fist on the bar.

There have been times in the past when stories have started to catch up to him— usually angry emails from business people losing out on money. There have never been any threats, none of his reports have been that high profile.

Not like poking his nose into the police would be. If he has what he thinks he does…

“Heard from who?” Wonwoo asks, his voice lower than before. Tension zips up his spine, watching a bead of sweat slide down the side of Mingyu’s neck. From where he’s sitting, Wonwoo can’t see if Mingyu has a gun strapped to his hip or not.

“Ah, I guess it’s just a rumor,” Mingyu says, giggling a little. “Someone said there was a reporter asking questions about, um, bribes from an entertainment company.”

Wonwoo’s mouth is suddenly dry. “That’s a rumor?”

“Is it true?” Mingyu asks, his voice so soft the thumping music almost swallows it entirely.

A hand on his shoulder makes Wonwoo flinch, almost slamming his sternum into the bar. Junhui drops his hand quickly, stepping back and giving Wonwoo a nervous smile.

It’s an immense relief to see him standing there and not a second police officer getting ready to drag him out back. Mingyu is still leaning toward him, teeth sunk into his lower lip, eyes fixed nervously to Wonwoo’s face.

“Are you making friends?” Junhui asks, his fingers curled in a loose fist at his side. He turns toward Mingyu and smiles. 

Mingyu balks, leaning back in his seat and clearing his throat. “I was just, um, leaving. Going home.” He leans forward, grabbing a pen from the other side of the bar and scribbling something quickly on the back of a business card he fishes from his pocket. He sets it in front of Wonwoo, standing up and scratching the back of his neck. “Um, thanks.”

Before he manages to vanish into the crowd, he stops short of crashing straight into Minghao. He blinks, and from an angle, Wonwoo can see the back of his neck go red. For a second, Minghao’s expression stays flat before his lips creep up into a teasing smile.

“So you _are_ a regular here, huh?” He asks, lifting his eyebrows.

For a man of his height, Mingyu suddenly looks quite small. His eyes are wide and round, surprised, excited even. “N- no. I was here about a work thing.”

“Work?” Minghao repeats, sounding even more entertained.

“I have to…” Mingyu trains off, glancing back at Wonwoo and swallowing hard. “I have to go.”

Minghao’s expression falls. He steps out of Mingyu’s way with a shake of his head and a slight huff. Mingyu hesitates, reaching slightly toward him before rethinking the move, stuffing his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pushing his way toward the exit.

The thudding of Wonwoo’s pulse in his temple is making his head throb. He grabs at Junhui’s sleeve, keeping him from wandering away again. “Can we step out back?”

“Sure,” Junhui says, looking down at Wonwoo’s hand wrapped around his wrist for a moment. “Of course.”

He waves off Minghao, who looks even more annoyed to be left alone immediately after apparently being rejected, but he takes Wonwoo’s spot at the bar rather than following the two of them outside.

In the alley, it’s dark and chilly. A few people are standing around in a small group nursing a pack of cigarettes, their voices echoing slightly off the surrounding stone buildings.

“What’s up?” Junhui says when the door bangs shut behind them. Under the streetlights, his face takes on a slightly orange tinge, his eyes glowing amber. “Are you okay?”

“He was a cop,” Wonwoo says, pulling Mingyu’s business card out of his pocket.

It’s tidy and plain; an emblem for the Seoul Metro Police and Mingyu’s name and phone number spelled out. Underneath that, in blue ink, Mingyu wrote _Call me about Thrill._ Junhui takes it when Wonwoo holds it out, studying it for a moment before handing it back with a frown.

“He knew about the story?” Junhui says. Wonwoo, let go of his arm when they got outside, no longer in a rush to escape the loud music or pressing bodies. The chilly air feels good stinging in his lungs. “Did he say how?”

“He said there was a rumor about me looking into it,” Wonwoo says. There’s a tremble in his hands that won’t go away no matter how many times he scrunches his fingers in. Junhui takes one of his hands, gripping it tight enough to steady it. “He didn’t— he didn’t say who he heard it from, he just asked if it was true right before you came back.”

Wonwoo sucks in two deep breaths, trying to calm the roiling in his stomach. If Mingyu was there to threaten him, would he have been so nervous about it? Nothing he said made it sound like he was going to _hurt_ Wonwoo but still, the realization that he might have wanted to is chilling.

“Junnie.” He’s holding onto Junhui’s hand so hard his knuckles have started to ache.

“Hey.” Junhui’s voice is hushed. He steps closer, putting his other hand on the back of Wonwoo’s shoulder. “It’s okay. He left, right? Do you want me to take you home?”

“I can get a cab,” Wonwoo says, even though he desperately doesn’t want to go back to his dark apartment by himself. It comes out weak and Junhui shakes his head.

“I’ll go with you,” Junhui says, his hand finding the nape of Wonwoo’s neck. “Minghao can be in charge of getting Chan and Soonyoung to bed.” His arm wraps around his shoulders, fitting Wonwoo into a tight half-hug. 

Junhui is warm and solid pressed up against Wonwoo— reassuring. It’s easy to feel safe with Junhui around, even if he’d make little difference if it came to gunplay. Junhui releases him, patting Wonwoo’s shoulder with a little smile.

“C’mon.” He uses their hands, still intertwined, to pull Wonwoo back inside. “Let’s make Minghao the responsible one.”  


* * *

  
Without asking, Junhui takes the keys from Wonwoo’s hand and unlocks the door. He flips on the lights, shuffling from room to room in Wonwoo’s small apartment, leaving a golden trail of light behind him.

“Everything looks good,” Junhui says, leaning out of the doorway to Wonwoo’s bedroom.

Wonwoo, lingering near the door, is struggling to think of something to say that will make him sound less foolish. There’s no reason to have dragged Junhui to his apartment for this. He feels like a child begging for someone else to make sure that there are no monsters in the closet.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. The smile on his face feels heavy— now that he’s home, he’s tired. “Thanks for um, checking. Sorry to be paranoid.”

He means the apology more than anything else. Junhui’s face is still radiant with a smile when he turns off the bedroom light and makes his way back down the hall. “I’ll call it even if you make me some tea.”

He could say no, of course. Junhui has never held that sort of thing against him.

Hei, the skinny black cat that stalks around the corners of the apartment and regards Wonwoo with equal amounts of suspicion and affection depending on the day, slips from the closet and dashes between Junhui’s ankles. He stops only to bat at Wonwoo’s ankle— his usual greeting— before jumping onto the small bench by the door and curling up like a pool of dark ink.

“Sure,” Wonwoo says after a moment. It’s much better to be with Junhui than to be by himself. The place feels more complete with Junhui there. 

Once he's in the kitchen, though, Wonwoo finds himself reaching for the bottle of soju in the fridge. "How about something harder?" He asks, looking back at Junhui. 

Junhui laughs, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. He shrugs his coat off, following Wonwoo into the kitchen. "Sure," he says, shaking his head. "I was just gonna walk home, anyway." 

Junhui leans around Wonwoo's shoulder and opening one of the cabinets and plucking out two shot glasses from the very front. Wonwoo's heartbeat snags— a thread on a nail. He opens the bottle and it jerks free once again, filling the glass in Junhui's hand, then his own. 

The soju burns going down, sharper than he was expecting. Junhui is still smiling, his body wedging Wonwoo up against the counter. They aren't touching save for when their knees knock together. Junhui is animated, even standing still. Wonwoo catches his eyes as he pours the next shot, almost spilling over his hand. 

"I didn't ask you back here to get you drunk," Wonwoo says, defending himself from nothing. He is still standing in the kitchen getting Junhui drunk. 

Junhui swallows the shot, hisses, and then laughs. "You didn't ask me to come at all." 

Wonwoo sets the empty glass on the counter, reaching out for Junhui's shirt to make sure no one loses their balance. When he does, Junhui's arms slide around his shoulders. The motion is calm, automatic— it doesn't occur to Wonwoo that Junhui is pulling him in closer until he can feel the thump of his heart in his chest. 

"Junnie." The apartment seems very quiet and Wonwoo lowers his voice so as not to disturb the silence. One of Junhui’s hands is at the small of his back, warm through the thin satin of Wonwoo's shirt. 

"Yeah?" Junhui asks, his head tipping slightly to the side. The light casts funny shadows over his face and the alcohol makes his outline fuzzier than usual. 

"Thanks," Wonwoo says, clearing his throat and releasing Junhui's shirt, smoothing the fabric over again. "For… getting me home safe." 

Junhui pulls away as well, stepping back from Wonwoo. "Anytime."

Wonwoo picks the glass bottle up, contemplating the bare amount left in the bottle before drinking that as well. It's barely more than another shot, anyway. 

"I can stay," Junhui says unevenly— decrescendoing as he speaks. "If you want me to sleep out on the couch or something."

"He wants me to call him," Wonwoo says, slumping back against the counter. "About Thrill." 

"Do you think…" Junhui trails off, rubbing the back of his neck before he starts again. "Did it seem like he wanted to hurt you?" Every word is reluctant to leave his lips. 

"He was nervous," Wonwoo says, shaking his head. "I thought he was trying to flirt with me at first." 

"And he knew about the story?" Junhui asks, his eyebrows furrowing. He catches Wonwoo's eyes darting away and giggles. "Don't ask. I didn't spill." 

“I wasn’t going to,” Wonwoo says, laughing a little himself. It crossed his mind, of course, but Junhui has never given Wonwoo a reason not to trust him. He sets the bottle back down on the counter, giving his head a brief shake. “You can go home, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” The furrow returns to Junhui’s brow.

“I’m not that paranoid,” Wonwoo says, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You’re too tall for the couch, anyway.”

For a second, Junhui’s expression stays set. Wonwoo is expecting him to argue, or offer something even more outlandish like sleeping on the floor of his room. But Junhui sighs, his shoulders slumping, giving in.

“You can call me if you get freaked out,” Junhui says, leaning in. His hands rest on Wonwoo’s shoulders, holding him in place as well. “Even in the middle of the night.” He is close in a way that Wonwoo would usually try and step back from— his forehead almost pressed to Wonwoo’s. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, putting one hand on top of Junhui’s. “I’ll call. If anything wakes me up.”

His brain is slower than usual— hindered by alcohol, ready for sleep. He doesn’t realize until Junhui steps away to put his coat on that for a moment that he was close enough to kiss. If Wonwoo wanted to kiss him.

Junhui wishes him goodnight and Wonwoo can hear the lock grinding shut when the door closed behind him— the sound of Junhui using his spare key to lock it. The apartment settles in on itself— quiet, still lit up with all the lights that Junhui turned on while wandering room-to-room.

Wonwoo gathers Hei up in his arms and flips the switches off as he passes them, carrying the cat off to bed with him.

**Author's Note:**

> twt: @eightology | @knightspur_ao3


End file.
